


Wisterias for You

by caralilis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, M/M, Oikawa is just very lost and Iwaizumi is there to help, because thats all i can write, i dunno i suck at tagging, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 07:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caralilis/pseuds/caralilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>
    <i>Altschmerz</i>
  </b>
  <br/>
  <i>weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had—the same boring flaws and anxieties you’ve been gnawing on for years, which leaves them soggy and tasteless and inert, with nothing interesting left to think about, nothing left to do but spit them out and wander off to the backyard, ready to dig up some fresher pain you might have buried long ago</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisterias for You

**Author's Note:**

> this is me forcing myself to write _something_

 

It was one of those days, if Oikawa was honest. Tiredness clung to his skin, weighing down every limb; slowing him down. It lidded his eyes and slumped his shoulders, but only slightly. Only enough for him to notice. His feet dragged redundantly across the court, carrying him back to his starting position. He blinked rapidly, stifling a yawn. The ball in his hand blurred, but his vision was still okay. So, with protesting muscles, he threw it up into the air, slamming it over the net. It landed perfectly, of course, right before the white line. He smiled, bringing his hand up to his mouth. The smile warped into the yawn he tried so desperately to hold back, stretching his lips till they burned. Tears gather in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away.

 

His next serve was also perfect. And the next one too. Along with the one after that. He continued to serve, racking up enough points to end the practice match. It was anticlimactic, as usual, but for once, Oikawa was grateful for that. He just wanted to go home. So he did, not bothering to wait for Iwaizumi. 

 

At home he slunk into his room, flopping onto his bed. There, exhaustion crashed over him like a tidal wave. It swam in his veins, warming him inside out. It lapped at his eyes, forming a film of water over his pupils. It resided into his bones, pulling them deeper and deeper into his bed. A sigh bubbled in him, spilling past his lips. It tasted stale, like seaweed. It was gross.

 

But Oikawa refused to go to sleep. Truly, there was no need to so early in the evening. He could be doing something productive, like homework or finally catching up on that series he’d been meaning to.

 

Instead he pulled himself up, trudging over to his bathroom. Looking into the mirror, another sigh slipped out. 

 

The cycle he’d been living was boring. He’d wake up, go to school, practice till he dropped, then dragged himself in front of the godforsaken mirror, detailing every single perfection, every  _ flaw _ he had. His hands, steady and nimble, failed on his toss today. His legs, lean and powerful, didn’t bring him high enough above the court. His brain, sharp and intuitive, shut down too often.

 

His shoulders, not broad enough.

His stomach, not toned enough. 

His smile, not perfected enough. 

His personality, not likeable enough.

 

Oikawa knew it. Of course he did. He thought the same thought everyday, worried the same anxieties, picked at his flaws. 

 

But now the feelings left a bitter taste on his tongue, making it incredibly hard to swallow. They left him empty and cold, draining every last drop of him. What used to eat away at him simply gnawed boredly at the fringes of his mind, reminding him out of habit.

 

He wondered if he could find something new to tear apart. Something to rip to shreds, to pick at till it bled.

 

His knee ached dully.

 

Oikawa rubbed at it absentmindedly, still staring into the mirror. Another Oikawa stared back at him, his lips turned down ever so slightly. Then he smiled mockingly at Oikawa, baring his canines. His lips burned again and he licked them, soothing the cracked skin. His reflection copied him, tongue skimming over the small scar on his upper lip. Nearly invisible, Oikawa couldn’t remember receiving it. Unsettlement nestled into his stomach, worming it’s way into the cracks along mirror. Except there wasn’t any broken glass when he first came into the bathroom.

 

He felt sick.

 

The blood dripped from his knuckles, tracing the tendons lightly before falling to the floor. Oikawa frowned at his stinging fist. Gently, he unfurled his fingers, examining the bits of sharded glass embedded into his skin. The pieces reflected nothing. It brought tears to Oikawa’s eyes.

 

He sank to the floor, leaving against the wall. It pressed into his back, cool and comforting. Oikawa brought his knees upwards, cradling his hand to his chest. Then was when the tears fell.

 

They were ugly. They poured from his tear ducts, clumping his eyelashes and drying on his cheeks. They barreled down his face, racing to his jaw. Some splashed onto his cut knuckled, causing even more tears to fall. His shoulders tensed and shook. He sobbed into his knees, toes curling inwards.

 

He hated this.

 

He hated  _ this. _

 

He hated the flaws. He hated the worries and the problems, hated the anxiety. Hated how it stayed the same, becoming one of the few constants in his life. He hated how used to it he had become, how he couldn’t imagine going a day without standing in front of some damn mirror, judging himself. 

 

And the tears stopped. And Oikawa was tired again. So very tired. His forehead bumped into his knees, hands falling limply into his lap. His eyelids struggled to say up, fluttering weakly. But Oikawa was tired, and the wall was nice, and his hand didn’t hurt anymore. 

 

-

 

He woke up to pounding on his front door.

 

He sat up groggily, rubbing his eye with his good hand. He pushed himself off the ground, groaning at the knots that formed along his spine. His knee popped loudly, causing Oikawa to winced and paused to massage the cartilage. By that time, the knocking had stopped, leaving the house eerily quiet. Was someone even knocking in the first place? He couldn’t fathom who it could’ve been.

 

Oikawa sighed, swinging the bathroom door open. He was met with a very, very angry Iwaizumi. He yelped, jumping back.

 

“Iwa-chan?” His voice was shot. “What’re you doing here?”

 

Iwaizumi scowled, taking a step forward. “What am I doing here? What are  _ you  _ doing here? I thought you had given up this damn obsession.” He glanced over to the mirror, frowning at the shattered glass. Oikawa turned as well, cowering at the fragmented reflection.

 

“How did this happen?” Iwaizumi touched the center of the mirror, where the spidering cracks all met. Oikawa looked down, shrugging. The other noticed this, following Oikawa’s gaze.

 

The blood had began to seep through the scabs.

 

“Tooru. Why?”

 

Iwaizumi’s voice was soft. Too soft. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t how they were supposed to act. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Iwaizumi wasn’t supposed to be here, standing in his house, showing  _ concern _ . He was supposed to be at his own house. He was supposed to be angry. He was  _ supposed  _ to act his part.

 

Oikawa didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t the routine he had meticulously created, built up with shaky hands and a heart of glass. A heart that shattered the minute Iwaizumi barged into his house, sending him crumpling to the ground.

 

Pain, anger, fear. Emotions he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. Twisting and swirling in his chest, ugly and gnarled. They raked across his skin, searing themselves into his bones. They screamed in his throat, spilling out of his eyes. They clawed at his ears and buried into his lungs.

 

“Tooru!”

 

Iwaizumi was grabbing his shoulders, shaking him to and fro. He was speaking, but the words were drowned by Oikawa’s sobs. Hands-his hands-were buried in his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands. His breathing was wild, shallow inhales and shaky exhales blown through his nose. Oikawa didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t, he didn’t, he  _ didn’t- _

  
  


“ _ TOORU!” _

 

Oikawa stopped, eyes wide in terror. Iwaizumi’s finger shook on his shoulders. They slipped off, falling back to his side. He stared at the ground, hiding his face from the taller boy. Oikawa reached forward, hand twitching when Iwaizumi stepped back. 

 

“Dammit Tooru,” Iwaizumi’s voice was still soft. “Why?”

 

Oikawa let his arm fall. Iwaizumi’s head snapped up and glared. His cheeks were wet and his lips trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t okay?”

 

His mouth fell open, but no sound came out. He didn’t know what to say. Oikawa? Not okay? The words weren’t clicking. He was perfectly fine, wasn’t he? This was his normal routine, wasn’t it?

 

Wasn’t it?

 

Oikawa couldn’t remember. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

 

“I’m sorry.” He choked.

 

“ _ I’m sorry! _ ” He sobbed. Iwaizumi sighed, opening his arms. Oikawa ran into them, knocking them both to the ground. He clung to Iwaizumi’s shirt, crying into his shoulder. Iwaizumi rubbed his back, whispering softly.

 

He talked about how they first met, when Oikawa accidentally stepped on Iwaizumi’s beetle he had been chasing. He talked about when they first became friends, three weeks into school, when Iwaizumi asked Oikawa to come play with him. He talked about their middle school years, and their two high school years so far. He talked about how great Oikawa was, how proud he was, and how much he loved him. 

 

He told Oikawa that it was okay to be sad, and it was okay to have flaws; he was still human, no matter how it seemed. He told Oikawa to lean on someone for once, and that he deserved to be happy too. He told Oikawa he deserved to be loved. And he told Oikawa all these things, quietly and honestly, believing every word that fell from his lips. And Oikawa started to believe them too.

  
He fell asleep in Iwaizumi’s arms soon after, with a broken mirror and a bandaged hand.

**Author's Note:**

> yes the title had nothing to do with anything except the meaning of the Wisteria flower is _steadfast_ , which probably makes no sense in this situation.


End file.
